The place in which I live or am staying I call home, despite having moved around a fair bit. It’s possibly down to habit and a bit of laziness, possibly because I like to feel I belong somewhere.
Wherever I have lived I’ve always tried to make it feel like a home. From draughty student houses that slugs liked to invade, to an old chapel, to a run down terrace with no heating. My poor Dad has carted vanload after vanload of ‘stuff’ around the country to my various abodes.
He complains about the quantity and necessity, I explain that I’ve had a clear out and it’s just the essentials left, he lifts the heavy stuff and I provide cups of tea.
I’ll never tell him but after my recent house move I’ve realised I probably have too many mugs, 32 is a lot and there are only two of us in our house. Alarmingly this is only one small part of my vast crockery collection – but more on that another time.
As much as everyone comments and frowns, I surround myself with lovely things that make somewhere feel a little loved. Some things are hand-made and lovingly decorated, others carefully picked.
And it makes me feel content.
But this week I went back to where I grew up, a place I rarely visit for reasons that are a little too complicated to explain in a short blog.
It is a place that fills me with happy memories, and a few sad ones too.
My childhood was pretty fabulous, utterly sheltered and full of fun and love. Before you think I’m getting all Enid Blyton on you, I was naughty sometimes, I got the odd smacked bum and even had my mouth washed out with fairy liquid once for the f word (not that I knew what it meant). But we flew kites, sledged at high speeds down the hill, rode our bikes, played in the sun, the rain and the mud.
As I stood looking across to the place where I had some of my happiest times, the tears suddenly rolled down my cheeks.
Because whist I felt really sad that it’s a place that would be too hard to go back to, I am really lucky that I was able to call it my home. That my childhood was spent in a very beautiful place and that I have those special memories.
Homes can be transient and they can be permanent, I might fill my house with ‘stuff’ which makes me happy in the here and now. But when I look back, I don’t think about the ‘stuff’ I think about what we did.
In years to come I doubt I’ll remember the bits n bobs I scatter about the house, it will be the happy times, that I’ll think back to.
I’m writing this down so that I remember this more often. An e-reminder to have fun and spend less but also to remind myself I am lucky.
You never know it might even curb my crockery habit, might being the operative word!